Gone but not Forgotten
by reflectiveless
Summary: Sherlock waits for John so he can surprise him that he had faked his death, but not everything goes according to plan. Ghostlock. Eventual Johnlock.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Sherlock feels bad about it, he really didn't want to hurt John like this, make him think he died. But was necessary of course, and he knows John will be mad, furious even, but it's worth saving his life. It's more then worth the punch to the face he knows he will get and the angry lecture about doing things 'a bit not good.' He did try to tell John at least, that it was just a magic trick, did John really never observe? Besides, it's only for one afternoon. John will come back any minute now, naturally still upset about what had happened, but then he'll see Sherlock spread across his chair with a wide grin.

Sherlock sighs as he waits, it will be hard hiding out in the flat as Mycroft has men dispose of Moriarty's men, but he's alive and still has John, that's all that matters after all. Besides, John is more then capable of keeping his exaggerated death under wraps.

So he waits.

But the sun dips and day turns to night and no one comes.

John doesn't come home and Sherlock begins to suspect he's made a terrible mistake.

* * *

Sherlock can't leave the flat, it was hard enough sneaking in without suspicion. If he just strolls out now he'll be seen. He regrets dropping his phone and leaving it at Bart's, one phone call and he knows John will come running. He had to though, if the cell phone had gone missing or turned up as still use, Moriarty's men would know.

Sherlock braces himself against the window, looking out at the people below and feels like an idiot. John is somewhere out there thinking he's dead and avoiding the flat. Why hadn't he planned for this? He should have known John would react like this, but then he was always so terrible with people, with sentiment.

* * *

It's late the following afternoon that Sherlock gives in, has to find John and tell him he's ok and waiting for him at the flat. He really thought John would have come home by now. It's worth scaring the daylight out of Mrs. Hudson to use her land line, she might as well know he's still alive anyway. But when he walks down to her flat, the door isn't locked and she's nowhere in sight. Good. He can just call John and get this over with in peace.

The dials are strangely difficult to press, like they've been corroded and hardly work anymore. But he has to call John, needs to tell him to stop worrying.

"Y-yes?" John sounds as if he's been crying since it happened, his voice hoarse and tired now.

Sherlock thinks of what to say, he know he's about to give his friend the shock of his life, "John- I… I'm really sorry about this, I thought you would come home sooner but-"

"Hello?"

"John? I'm trying to tell you-"

"Anyone there?"

Bloody phone, why does Mrs. Hudson have such an infernal device? "John! Don't hang up-" Sherlock practically shouts but it's too late, John hung up.

Sherlock is furious. Why is it so damn hard to tell him he's alright?

He waits in Mrs. Hudson's flat, she's bound to come back eventually. Before he knows what's happening though, he wakes to find he'd been kipping on her couch.

Sherlock looks out the window and finds it's early morning. He makes a note to himself to tell Mrs. Hudson her eyesight has clearly been going if she didn't notice him there. He leaves and goes back to 221B, the door is locked, not as he left it.

Finally.

Sherlock can't contain his smile, John is finally home, he can finally tell him he's fine. He's not sure what's gotten in him, perhaps the lack of human interaction of the past two days, but it somehow seems like the most important thing in the world to tell John as soon as possible that he's here.

He unlocks the door and swings it open, "John! John!" he calls loudly but there's no answer. He sees the cracked screen of his cell phone laying on the coffee table. There's no doubt, John was here, had come in last night as he was asleep in the apartment below. He could curse himself for not waiting here longer.

"John!" he pounds up the stairs to John's room and walks in, he's asleep in his bed, looking distraught.

Sherlock goes quiet for a moment, John was having nightmare's again, possibly due to him.

"John… I'm so sorry. God, what was I thinking?" He shakes John's shoulder lightly, watching his eyes flutter open.

"I'm up I'm up, you don't have to keep calling my name." John rubs the sleep from his eyes as Sherlock smiles down at him.

"I'm back John, I'm sorry."

"Sherlock?" John looks around confused.

Sherlock tilts his head, "Please understand it was necessary that you-"

John cuts him off, sitting upright in his bed suddenly. "Sher…." He stops himself, can't bring himself to say it.

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry… I didn't know how else to-"

John bolts from the bed, running past Sherlock and down the stairs.

"John wait! Come back, I said I'm sorry!" He calls after his flatmate as he follows him down the stairs.

John stops dead still as he sees the door wide open. He put his hand to his mouth to suppress a laugh. "You bastard, you utter bastard." But he's laughing, can't believe Sherlock had really done it, survived his own suicide.

Sherlock smiles at him, "Like you really doubted for a second that I didn't have something planned?"

Then John does something Sherlock couldn't understand at first. Something that would brake him.

John stands facing Sherlock, a wide grin on his face, "Sherlock you utter and complete bastard, where are you?"

"J-John…?"

"Sherlock?! God damn it, come out right now." John stalks off to the kitchen, looking around, then to Sherlock's room. He looks around confused. "Sherlock?" his shouts have died off to a whisper.

"John, what are you doing? I'm right here?"

John crawled up onto the former detective's bed and grabs on of the pillows, holding it to his chest. "I thought… I thought that… oh god… Sherlock… I really thought I heard you calling me."

Sherlock furrowed his brow and sat next to him. "Shh, John… I'm sorry, but I'm here, right here. Please John, don't cry. You were suppose to find out right after but you didn't come home…"

John clutches the pillow closer, staring at the wall. "Yesterday when I got that phone call… for minute I thought I heard you on the other line whisper my name… but it wasn't you." his eyes welled up with tears.

"It was John, that was me. The line was-"

"It couldn't have been you… You… you're…"

"I'm here now John." Sherlock reached his hand out to John's shoulder and went straight through him.

"Gone."

* * *

A/N: No idea how long this will be, this isn't the end though.

I'm actually a vampire that feeds off of comments, so please, feed me so I can live and write.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

John continued to lay on Sherlock's bed in the fetal position, hugging Sherlock's pillow close, it still smelled like his over priced shampoo and after-shave. He wasn't sure how long he had been there like that, but it was too painful to leave. It felt like Sherlock's presence was right there with him, he knew it was just his grief-ridden mind playing tricks on him.

Sherlock lied next to him, wishing beyond hope that he could reach out and pull him close, but apparently he was beyond the ability to touch now. "I'm so sorry John… this wasn't suppose to happen… I wasn't supposed to… die. Not for real. Something must have gone wrong." He was finally understanding what was happening to him.

"Why Sherlock? Why would you do this?"

Sherlock knew he couldn't hear him, that John was essentially talking to himself. "It was for you John… I was trying to save you. Lestrade and Hudson too." His heart ached deeply for him, he didn't think John would be this distraught over his death, why had he ever thought that?

"What am I suppose to do now?" John's voice was barely above a whisper. "You saved me…"

At first Sherlock thought he was talking about jumping off the building.

"That first night here with you… you changed my life. You didn't just fix my limp, you fixed me. Gave me a purpose. I don't have a purpose now."

"John… you have a purpose, you have to keep living." Sherlock felt worse then dead, he felt broken. He realized for the first time that people don't live for the sake of living, they live for those close to them. "You're a doctor, you save lives. That's a far better purpose then some people serve."

"I know you were lying-"

Sherlock's eyes went wide, did John really think of him as a fraud now?

"You never cared what anyone thought of you, you wouldn't care what the papers printed. Not now. Not ever. That's not why you… there was a different reason."

"I should have told you how clever you are far more often." Sherlock smiled faintly.

"I'm going to find out why you did it Sherlock, I swear to god, I will find out what really happened." John wiped his tears away.

"One day you might," Sherlock whispered quietly. He wasn't sure why he was here now that he had time to think on his situation. He had never actually thought of the possibilities of what would happen after death beyond the body decomposing. He assumed it would be like a dreamless sleep, that you just stopped existing.

This was certainly not some fire filled pit, nor a cloudy realm of everything he ever wanted. There were no deceased relatives to greet him or a bright light summoning him forth. He was just there, right on the brink of existence. Evidentially invisible, incorporeal, and unheard.

Curious, he stood and made his way to the bathroom to peer in the mirror. He could see himself quite well, though he assumed he was likely the only one that could view his own reflection now. He was wearing the same clothes as when he jumped of St. Bart's. He was sure his corpse was probably not, it would likely have been stripped and left on a mortician's table by now. There was no obvious cause of death, in fact, he looked rather alive. This made one thing obvious at least, the physical world apparently had no bearing on his appearance now. Though he also considered if he was what one might refer to as a 'soul', there was truly no need for clothing. In fact, he likely wouldn't look like his physical form at all, genetics and souls having little to do with one another. But he couldn't deny that he really did seem to look the way he always had.

"Ah but that's it!" He finally understood. He looked the way he saw himself as. He concentrated hard on the image before him, and soon found he could easily change what he was wearing just by thinking. Though with no one else to see, this new trick seemed to be of little use.

Sherlock tilted his head in thought, he was certainly not the first person to ever die, so where was everyone else? He had spent the past two days in unnecessary hiding, but on his way to the flat…. Sherlock blinked rapidly. He couldn't recall now how exactly he had gotten here after his fall. He wasn't even sure how his plan had gone awry ending in his death.

He needed to go back there and see what had happened. Sherlock marched off for the door, but his hand went straight through the door handle. He sighed, that hadn't happened the first time he tried it this morning, which gave him a sudden pause. He had opened the door earlier… using what he had to assume was an imaginary key now since it didn't have a real one. He had unlocked and opened the door with his mind, not by going through the physical motions like he would have if he was still in a body. He tried the door handle again but still couldn't hold onto it. This was definitely something he would have to try again. Then there was John, he seemed to hear him calling his name this morning, said he heard what sounded like Sherlock whisper on the other end of the phone yesterday. There was still a way he could contact John then, tell him he was… well, 'ok' was probably an over statement, he was technically dead after all. But he could contact him again, try to get him out of the mourning fit he was in possibly.

Sherlock stared at the door blocking his way, he couldn't open it, but perhaps that meant- he closed his eyes and stepped forward, opening the again to find he had passed through the door. That would take some getting use to. Sherlock glided down the steps but as soon as he tried to walk through the outer door and onto the street it was as if he slammed into a wall.

"I thought I was over having to open these damned things…" he tried grabbing the handle but it wouldn't budge. "I see. So I'm trapped haunting the flat."

Sherlock went back up, thoroughly irritated he couldn't leave. Hopefully he would find some way around that soon. It was bound to get terribly boring in 221B all day without the ability to touch anything.

Now was as good a time as any to start trying to move things. He became so focused on trying to turn the page of an open book that he didn't hear Mrs. Hudson come in.

"Oi John! It's freezing in here!"

John wandered out of Sherlock's bedroom, feeling like he had been caught doing something bad, though when he was in there he couldn't help but feel strangely welcomed.

"I know, I woke up colder then ever this morning. Somehow the door came open in the night." John was so sure he had locked it last night.

"Well it was closed just now." She went about making them both tea.

"It… it was? Must be a draft…" John knew he didn't shut it after his mad dash through the flat in false hope that Sherlock had come back.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Like all of Sherlock's experiments, he quickly became immersed in this new one, spending all his time focused entirely on trying the simple feat of moving things. It was far more difficult then he had thought it would be, but he was slowly picking up little trick. If an object was already in motion, it was significantly easier to move it. A door moving a bit from the wind or someone else starting to shut it was simple enough to slam shut or open, unfortunately that had given Mrs. Hudson quite the scare when she was around for it.

He could also move small objects a tiny amount, it wasn't nearly enough for anyone to noticed, but with practice he figured he could move up to larger items and moving things further, maybe even picking something up entirely.

Sherlock glanced down at his broken discarded phone that still lay where John had put it on the coffee table, and had done everything in his power to not look at since then. Sherlock wasn't sure why he had kept the thing if it seemed to be causing him pain. He reached out to attempt to move it even though it was larger then the pens and buttons he had been practicing with, it moved, if only slightly, but was far easier to interact with then the previous items. He hummed in curiously at it, his fingers swiping over the front when the screen curiously came on when he was sure it had been broken. Did it only work for him now? The screen lit up with missed texts.

I miss you. JW

Please come back. JW

I know you wont get these, but I wanted you to know that you are my best friend and mean the world to me. Please stop this. Stop being dead. JW

Sherlock wanted to type back a response so bad, but he doubted he was capable of doing it, not only would his fingers not press the buttons down but the phone technically had no service now even if he was able to use it through otherworldly ways. Besides, what would he say? 'I'm sorry'? 'I'm dead but don't worry I'm haunting the flat'? He knew John wouldn't believe the text was actually from him anyway.

Sherlock hated himself for what he had done, he could tell John was slowly becoming a wreck. He just wanted to be there for him but knew it was an impossibility now. Maybe ceasing to exist would have been better then this. He went to find John, maybe just watching him for a while would calm him down. When he found him, John was asleep in Sherlock's bed again. Sherlock wasn't sure if he liked having John close to his worldly possessions or if it made him sad how poorly he was moving on.

"John?" he whispered from the doorway, maybe he would hear him again like he had that morning. But John barely stirred. Sherlock drew closer, John was breathing heavily with his eyes squeezed shut, possibly having a nightmare Sherlock thought. He knew it would probably do no good, but Sherlock tried rubbing the side of John's face with his hand to sooth him.

* * *

Suddenly Sherlock was standing in an empty ally surrounded by impossibly tall buildings. There was just enough ambient light to see by but it was otherwise extremely dark and filled with garbage. It looked a bit like the back alleys of London, but he couldn't think of anywhere in the city that was this garishly painted or had quite so many trash bins. He heard the faint far off call of what sounded like his own voice, 'Hurry up John! We're almost there!' as foot steps splashed through puddles and quickly approached him from beyond the corner. Sherlock blinked rapidly in confusion, he saw himself running around the corner right at him before fading away into nothing. A second pair of foot steps and a heavy panting breath followed, and within seconds John was running around the same corner. He came to an abrupt stop when he saw Sherlock standing there motionless.

"Sherlock! What are you doing?" John panted heavily, "It's coming, we have to keep going."

"You- you can see me?"

There was a horrible howl that came from the direction John had been running away from. John had a look of pure terror as he glanced over his shoulder, "We don't have enough time, come on Lock!" He grabbed Sherlock's hand, it felt as real as anything, and began running again. The deafening howl only got louder as it gained speed on them.

The alleys twisted and turned in ways that Sherlock knew where impossible, they had gone around at least one square block on all it's sides and never found the front, but John seemed not to notice at all.

"John you need to stop! Look around you, none of this makes sense, there's nothing chasing us, it isn't real."

"What are you talking about? It's coming, it's going to kill us, don't you dare leave me now!" John yelled out thunderously sending Sherlock back a bit.

"I… I'm not leaving you John. Just calm down, this isn't real, it's a dream." A nightmare really.

"We have to get to St Bart's, it's the only place he can't get in. But then you have to leave me…" John's voice had gone quiet; he looked as though he was on the verge of a mental breakdown.

"I'm not going to leave John, I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere." Sherlock tried pulling him close but John pushed him away. "You said this was a dream, so you're not real, you're just lying to me." John's tone was infuriated again.

The howling started again and John was once again terrified.

"There's no hound, nothing is coming for you." Sherlock tried desperately to reassure him.

"Hound? What are you talking about?"

"The… we're not being chased by the hound from our visit to the Baskervills?" Sherlock was sure this was some fear left over from that case.

There was a deep snarling coming from the direction they were running towards, John went stiff. A deep fog was masking what was waiting for them.

Sherlock's voice quieted significantly, he kept mentally reminding himself that this was all a dream but somehow that didn't help too much.

"John… what's after us then?"

John swallowed thickly, "Moriarty."

A slender figure appeared at the edge of the fog slowly walking closer to them.

"John, I swear to you, this is just a dream." Sherlock needed to think of something fast, logically he knew John would eventually wake up, but his mind was racing now. If it was a dream, that meant they needed dream logic to get out. "You need to think of a way out, anything, just imagine it really hard and vividly."

John shut his eyes, desperately wanting to believe Sherlock that everything would be fine, but something in the back of his mind told him things would be worse if this was just a dream. That somehow this was better then waking up. He closed his eyes, thinking hard of being away from Moriarty. A flash of light momentarily blocked Sherlock's field of vision. The first thing he noticed after he could see again was that it was morning with the sun just coming out over an open sky. That was a good sign at least.

"John, thank god, you did it." There were no tall buildings around them anymore, no howling monsters to attack them."

"He's still coming…"

Sherlock turned to face John, hadn't they just gotten away from that dream? He took in his new surroundings, it made sense why the sky was so clear no, no buildings blocking their vision, they were on a roof.

No.

No.

No…

"John, John! Stop, stop this!"

John was hyperventilating at the edge of the roof, Sherlock gathered it was a safe bet to assume he knew what building they were on top of. He grabbed John by the waist and pulled him away from the ledge.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

"I have to get away from him… there's no other way Lock… He's coming…"

"You don't have to do that, it's a dream, he's not real, he's…"

"Dead."

Sherlock went stiff. If John could remember that Moriarty was dead now…

John struggled to get free from Sherlock, his target was still the ledge of the roof.

"No! What are you doing? There's nothing to run from now!" Sherlock tried keeping his grip but John eventually got free, barely giving Sherlock enough time to grab hold of his arm.

Tears were rolling down John's face, "I just want to be with you. Please Sherlock, just let me. I need this. I need you. I can't keep going without you Lock."

"John no, you cant do this, I wont let you. There are so many people that need you, love you, you cant leave them."

"You did."

Sherlock could feel his heart stopping.

"You left me… you left and you're not coming back." John fell to his knees crying.

Sherlock wrapped himself around him, "I didn't mean to. Wake up John, please wake up."

* * *

John's eyes snapped open, for a brief second he could have sworn he saw Sherlock leaning over him with a worried expression. But with the blink of his eyes the image was gone and he was alone in the flat once more. He pulled a pillow close to his chest and gripped it tightly as he buried his face into it. In public he had tried so hard to look like he was trying to move on, tried so hard to keep himself together. But with no one around there was no reason to pretend and he cried freely into Sherlock's pillow.


End file.
